The Silent Wait
by pyrrhicvictoly
Summary: This is the kind of normal life he had always hoped for.


The silence isn't so bad  
until I look at my hands and feel sad  
because the spaces between my fingers  
are right where yours fit perfectly  
- Owl City, _Vanilla Twilight_

* * *

Karakura is no longer her assignment, no longer her second home, no longer hers to protect. All the time that she had spent among the denizens of the city, moving about within their ranks and speaking to them, eating their food, feeling their small pulses of human spiritual power brush up against her every which way... The memories of these once-mundane events are becoming dreamlike. Just as her impression had been wiped from their minds upon her first return to Soul Society, so too does she now see herself as a slowly fading ghost in their midst when she thinks fondly back on those days. Almost all of her human acquaintances had already been much larger than her, but in her blurry visions of them, she shrinks until she's a little forgotten speck, and then she's gone.

What hurts more than the separation is knowing that the city isn't _his_ to protect, either. Now that he is merely a human, he cannot see her anymore. And because Kuchiki Rukia is a true lady of war; because she must be strong and noble and resilient and everything else that the Kuchiki name demands, she keeps the ache silent. She grabs hold of the pain and reigns it in, pulling it back inside into the firm set of her lips and the cool glint in her eyes so that none may see her mourning for a man who is still alive and well, at least on the outside, while they place flowers in hospital vases or atop bodiless graves. So it is in silence and solitude that she bears the crushing knowledge that all the warm days by his side are not only gone, but will never return.

It would be stupid to say that she can't live without him, or that she's completely broken without him. It would be stupid because it's laughably false. Rukia is tougher than that. She isn't so weak that she is nothing on her own; she has obviously had worse in her life than this little sting of separation. Growing up in the barren outer reaches of the Rukongai, the death of many loved ones, the long estrangement from Renji, the war... Just as all the others had, this little scar is going to heal up just fine.

It's just that... sometimes she thinks of him and wishes he were here.

And so it is that Rukia goes through the motions. Day after day, she gets up at dawn in her little-room-that-is-too-big. After breakfast, Kotsubaki and Kotetsu shout-boom-screech contradictory drill formations at the squad. Rukia checks in with her captain, fills out paperwork, makes fun of Renji's newly extended tattoos (On his buttocks? Really?), runs errands, reassures various nobles that she and her brother are both doing fine, attends meetings with the Women's Association, reads the newest copy of Seireitei Communication with her evening tea, and then retires to her little-room-that-is-too-bright.

Rukia finds that she cannot sleep, and it's not only because she sometimes has nightmares of monsters wearing Kaien-dono's face or Chappy being eaten by giant elephant-caterpillars. (Ridiculous, yes, but when have dreams ever made sense?)

Unseated officers' quarters are about the size of the cramped dorms of her academy days, though with the added benefit of not coming packaged with a sleep-talking roommate. Everything else is comparable, right down to the way the hazy lamplight streams in through the windows with ledges too narrow for anything but the smallest of potted plants. Both these types of rooms used to seem like pinpricks next to her "modest" quarters in the Kuchiki manor, but are now far too lavish for her; so much so that part of her dreads getting days off, because even though the breaks allow her to catch up with her brother, the prospect of sleeping anywhere where she has to walk ten paces from her futon just to touch the nearest wall is extremely unsettling.

"Rukia."

The sound of her name breaks her out of her reverie. Rukia is barely able to suppress a gasp as she snaps back to attention. "Yes, nii-sama?"

"Our Senkaimon has been prepared, should you choose to use it."

Kuchiki Byakuya shows no hint of emotion on his regal face. Such displays would be improper, after all. Still, it is only after he speaks that she lets out the breath she hadn't even known she had been holding. With that soft exhalation, Rukia turns to face him and says, "Thank you, nii-sama."

She wants to say more, but there are no words she can think of to describe the depth of gratitude she feels for her brother or the amazement at how wonderful and understanding a soul he really is underneath the cool veneer. There are no words, so Rukia settles for the next best thing: she smiles.

Before she knows it, they've parted ways and her feet have carried her to the Senkaimon. She reaches for it, but pulls back at the last second.

_Deep breaths. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale._ "You can do this," she tells herself.

When she is as steady as she'll ever be, Rukia lets the butterfly perch on her finger, slides open the door, and steps into the light.

The city is a blur. Rukia's feet carry her over to the Kurosaki residence on autopilot while her thoughts race a hundred miles per hour. What will it be like to see him again? What will she say? How will they break the ice after so many months? Before these thoughts lead to any real solutions, Rukia is perched on the rooftop and scrambling down into the opened window.

Even while asleep, his brows are furrowed. Ichigo's mouth is turned down in a frown and his fingers twitch against the covers.

What does he dream of? Is he grasping for his zanpakutou? Is he slinging an arm around one of his shinigami friends? She chuckles at the thought of cornering tough, bad-boy Kurosaki Ichigo into actually admitting that he wanted something as mushy as a _hug_.

Now would be a perfect time to wake him up and continue their old routine. He'll screech at her for disturbing his beauty sleep on the night before a test. She'll tell him to suck it up and deal, accompanied by a jump-kick to the face. He'll use his height to his advantage and squish her head down, but she'll still get to snicker at him all day long because he'll have an imprint of her foot on his chin.

"What the hell, Rukia? You could've broken my nose!"

"Serves you right for being slow! Honestly, you should have sensed me the moment I came in through the window!"

"Well excuse me for thinking the war was over and I could finally relax! And stop using the window! I have a door, you know! You don't have to sneak in like some sort of midget crook!"

Yeah, she can imagine it all even before it starts.

Rukia leans down to flick him on the forehead before she remembers. It's only for a second, but she jolts when her hand passes through him and hits the pillow. She jerks back, but already the chill of his weak spiritual pressure crawls up her veins and freezes her heart. And she stands still and waiting in the silence.

Finally, Rukia leans down again. Her hands pass through and lie on top of his in a mockery of a clasp. She plants a ghostly kiss to his brow, watching as he twitches in sleep, and yet fails to sense her. It's a bittersweet feeling, being with him...

"Good night, Ichigo. I'll be in the closet if you need me."

The size of this room is just right; it's the best sleep she's had in months.

* * *

"Morning, Ichigo."

There's no reply; he goes about packing his school bag. Textbook, textbook, notebook, pencils.

Rukia glances over his shoulder and spies a new report card next to a neat stack of drawings. The report card makes her frown a bit and launch into an act. "Oh~, Kurosaki-kun~" she says, bringing her hand up to her brow and pretending to sob, "What in the world is to become of you if you graduate in such poor standing? No institution of higher learning shall take you! Your father a doctor, and _you_... a dishwasher!" Falling to the ground and turning her head from him in false shame, she clasps her hands to her chest and wails to the heavens. "Kami-sama save this boy!"

It's definitely one of her better acts. And yet there's no response. Ichigo... pads off to the bathroom to take a shower.

For a while, as she listens to the spray of water coming from the next room, Rukia contemplates going down to breakfast with him. His sisters are spiritually aware, and although Yuzu won't be able to see her, they'll both sense the presence of a shinigami. Karin could serve as her interpreter, which meant she could still talk to Ichigo.

Then her mind wanders to Urahara, and how no one would object if she were to stop by the shop for a gigai. And then she thinks that perhaps the gigai would be too intrusive, as if she were forcing her way into his life yet again. Ichigo had said many times that he wished to be normal, and even without his powers, being constantly tailed by a shinigami isn't exactly normal. Speaking through Karin would feel too impersonal, though, and frankly rather creepy and awkward.

No speaking to him, then. She'll write a note and leave it on his desk!

_Dear Ichigo,_

_How are you? Things have been fine in Soul Society. The rebuilding is going well, but Renji and I miss you a lot. Nii-sama has allowed me the use of the Kuchiki Senkaimon, so I've come to visit you. If there's ever anything you need, I'll be watching over you._

_Forever your friend,  
Rukia_

_P.S. I spent the night in your closet. You need to do laundry._

The pen hovers over the paper, but she can't make the first mark. Downstairs, Ichigo and Karin shout at their father. Pots clang; a body hits the ground with a dull thud. Yuzu offers seconds.

Rukia's eyes are glued to the stack of drawings that she had glanced over earlier. "You kept them..."

The pen falls from her hand.

When breakfast is over, Ichigo runs back upstairs to grab his bag. Rukia is still standing by the desk, brows furrowed in thought. She turns to watch him; to track the shifting emotions across his face. He grunts and grimaces, heaves the bag up to his shoulder, shrugs it down again, up again, walks to the window, looks out, scowls deeper, scratches the back of his head... All classic Ichigo actions, and yet...

There's something odd about him.

It takes her a while to pin down what it is, but Rukia figures that it's because Ichigo looks _lost_. It's not a good look for him, honestly. Whether he's scowling or blushing outside, Ichigo should be passionate and determined. His presence is always larger than life. He shouldn't look so _small_.

And it's her fault. It's her fault because all Ichigo had ever wanted was a normal life, and she had dragged him into the heart of a mess that should never have been his to clean up. Ichigo would say that he didn't blame her, but it wouldn't make it any less her fault. It's because of her that he's so damaged at such a young age.

Sometimes she forgets that he's just a teenage human boy. Surly and rebellious, but with a good heart. Tough, yes, but also innocent. It used to be that he was so powerful that she would forget that he was anything other than a seasoned fighter. But not anymore.

All Ichigo had ever wanted was for the ghosts to leave him the hell alone. Well, now his dream is about to come true.

The only sound in the room is Ichigo's rhythmic breathing. There's a juice box in his hand. He puts the straw in and sets it on the windowsill.

"Rukia...?" His voice is soft. Unsure.

It's as if he's been talking to ghosts all this time, offering juice boxes and receiving nothing but silence in return. Rukia feels another twinge in her chest at this thought.

"I'm here." She glides over and places her hand on top of his, watching as her smaller fingers slip right between his. "I'm here," she says with a smile, blinking back the tears.

They stay like this for a while until Yuzu yells that he's going to be late.

"Yeah, yeah! I'm coming!"

From the doorway, Ichigo looks back into his room, seeing nothing but a juice box on the windowsill. That afternoon, he comes home to find the juice box still full.


End file.
